Vuvuzela
by Kayi Rowling
Summary: "I think there might be something seriously wrong with you, pal." A GenV crack/speculation one-shot, set after you beat the Isshu champion.


**Vuvuzela**

By Kayi S. Rowling

* * *

You couldn't believe it. There was _no way_ you could have; it was just _impossible!_

Because the _miracle of the millennium_ had happened: you had marched through the Elite Four with your trusted Pokémon companions, a team you had trained with since that fateful day you and your childhood friends had gotten that wrapped up gift from the Professor, and then you had proceeded to face off against the Isshu Champion, the best of the best…

_And you had freaking won!_

What was this? Was someone pulling a highly elaborate prank on you? Most likely, even when that Pokémon that had fainted across from you truly looked beaten up, even when you trusted your own Pokémon to be that strong… Even when the freaking _Champion_ was calling at you for being so good while recalling that poor thing back to its Pokéball, your thoughts just kept telling you there was _no way_ you had won. That _didn't happen_ in real life! It was an awesome thing on TV, and movies, and books, and comics, and videogames… But all that was _fiction!_ You were just a random trainer, not the protagonist of an awesome and inspiring story!

…you snapped out of your shocked stupor when your childhood friends, Cheren and Bel, caught up with you, presumably to keep you from shaming yourself further by just standing there, looking like an idiot, if not actually _brain-dead._

"Congratulations!" Bel nearly shrieked, throwing her arms around your neck and hugging you. "You _totally_ showed them not to mess with us, kids from—!"

"Now, now, there, no need to insult everyone else, woman," Cheren calmly reprimanded her, pushing his glasses up his nose. Then he patted your shoulder awkwardly, like only those friends that feign to be cool and aloof can do. "Well done," was all he said. He didn't even _smile,_ the jerk!

However, an even bigger _jerk_ was approaching, a bastard of a whole new level that consistently refused to give anyone his name for no adequately explained reason… Your friends almost jumped away from you upon sensing _danger and aggression_ being sweat by every single pore of the green-haired guy's body. Who was also keeping his arms behind his back in a suspicious manner; was he carrying a cleaver? A sword? _A chainsaw? _He surely wanted to _kill_ you now; this was the "I will surpass the Champion" guy, after all!

"Congratulations… _Champion,_" N spat, before revealing his weapon: a freaking vuvuzela. You heard Bel giggling and Cheren coughing to mask his wish to laugh as well.

…then _neither of you_ could hear anything anymore as N blew the hellish thing for what seemed like an _eternity,_ but was most assuredly less than ten seconds. Still, your ears _hurt;_ having covered them in haste with your hands hadn't helped _at all! _

By the time your hearing returned partially, Bel was still crying in distress and Cheren kept groaning as he kept feeling that horrible ringing in his ears. Turning to glare at N, you found him smirking.

"Now I'll have to defeat you," he simply said, shrugging and somehow twirling the vuvuzela with a single hand. What was he now? _A cheerleader?_

"I think there might be something seriously wrong with you, pal," you replied.

The other three gasped in shock. "You can actually _talk?_"

* * *

**Author notes:** I didn't plan the use of a vuvuzela for the upcoming Black and White games, just so you know. The setting was originally (as would be expected of me) the Pokémon Special manga, with the Dexholders surprising Gold with freaking vuvuzelas after he, arguably, wins at the Pokéathlon… But, whatever, I just love vuvuzelas; they're made of pure evil. And N is sexy, and potentially evil. Hence, this is my new OTP.

**Story comments:** Second person is used because I didn't want to risk choosing a gender for the player character. You can pick either the boy or the girl, or both if you read the fic twice. Just note that they have equal chances of being rendered deaf by N's vuvuzela. Gender doesn't make you immune to that damned sound…

**Reader requests: **I'd like it very much if you put it in your Favorites list if you agree with my characterization. If you don't, feel free to let me know through a Review. Adding the story to Favorites and then Reviewing because you liked the story might get you a one-shot request granted, by the way! (And here I had inserted a TV infomertial parody, but then I had to delete it because jokes are hard to transmit through this medium, you know?)


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